


How To Be

by 43degrees



Category: Methyl Ethel (Band)
Genre: Angst, Band Fic, Drunk Sex, Implied poly relationship, M/M, RPF, desperate and lazy sex which is basically dry humping but sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-30 04:03:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16757320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/43degrees/pseuds/43degrees
Summary: The tags say it all tbh but this is basically also every room-sharing at a hotel pwp fic ever so please enjoy.





	How To Be

**Author's Note:**

> (The fic idea was borne out of the guys watching the NRL Grand Final in September 2018, on someone's story, I forget who, but if you haven't seen it, all you need to know is that Jake was sitting in Thom's lap. That's literally all the inspiration I needed to write this it seems.)

In half-sleep, Jake first hears the muffled sound of the ocean. Waters shred rocks, stirring the sand through the turn of the waves, a sound heard from very far away, or through thick glass. But he’s heard the ocean his entire life and it doesn’t sound quite right. His mind sorts the sound cues, fits it to another source, to wind howling through the leaves of a thousand trees, branches swaying and bird songs looping around the canopies like returning boomerangs. It seems right until a pair of lyrebirds perfectly mimic car honks and the whooshing of the wind transforms into the artificial push of traffic through the streets of Brisbane.

He sleeps longer, rising to the surface of wakefulness when he hears gunshots or cannons blasting, an unlikely correlation in Australia and so his brain connects the sound to fireworks bursting behind the thick glass of the hotel windows. A grand fireshow beyond his closed eyes, a whole nation in raucous celebration of the won or lost footy game. Closer he hears cries emanating from the hallway, sing-song camaraderie with new friends and old enemies and nearby snoring arising from Chris passed out on one of the twin beds.

“I can  _ just  _ see the fireworks.”

Thom’s voice rumbles out from beneath Jake with the vibrations like water channelling through the plumbing in an old house, the kind that makes the floorboards tremble and a sound that rattles off to only those chasing the flow.

It pulls Jake out of his slumber and he remembers how he pointedly fell asleep on top of Thom for countless reasons. For one, he was comfortable. He liked the feel of his love’s arms around him, and he thought it was amusing how Diamond’s eyes had lingered, like Jake had snagged the best nest, as if Diamond knew that Jake was too territorial for it to be worth fighting over.

Only it meant Thom had to lie on the ground in between the two beds and it must be uncomfortable and Jake feels only a tad vindictive because he misses Thom all the time and Thom’s in Melbourne all the time and he didn’t want to go back to the room he’s meant to share with Diamond because he’s meant to share with Thom!

He’s meant to share Thom.

But how is he meant to share a whole human being who can walk and talk on his own when Jake wants to be with him all the time to see him move and play and laugh? And not miss any of it because all moments with Thom are special and amazing and -- he swallows his questioning, knows there’s no point.

“Hey, I thought you woke up,” Thom whispers, his beautiful large hand caressing Jake’s head.

Jake stares at the white sheets that have fallen in disarray off the bed to his left. He lifts his head, Thom’s fingers sliding out of his hair and his fingertips brush against Jake’s forehead. He asks Thom, “Are you uncomfortable?”

Thom says it so fast. “Nah.” So quiet, reassuring. Like always, anything about this that’s complicated is probably only in Jake’s head.

He lowers the right side of his face to Thom’s belly and goes back to listening to the little noises that his stomach makes. His forehead aches slightly, heavy with alcohol and longing for Thom’s touch again. He listens to the rise and fall of Thom’s breathing, feels it beneath his head. He wishes he could forget why this ever stopped.

“Can’t see them anymore,” Thom whispers.

“What?” Jake mumbles.

“The fireworks. I could only see the really big ones but I can’t hear them anymore either so I think it’s-” Chris lets out a particularly loud snore as he rolls over, making Thom’s voice hitch an octave lower before he finishes, “-done now.”

Jake rests his chin on Thom’s stomach and looks up to see Thom craning his neck to see if Chris has woken up. When he relaxes, Jake meets Thom’s eyes which twinkle in the moonlit room. He wants to tell Thom how much he’s missed his love but he doesn’t want to guilt him for the hundredth time. Thom doesn’t deserve that. This is what they agreed on when Thom moved to Melbourne. And it’s meant to make their time together more special. It’s just so hard to keep himself away from Thom when they’re on tour because he loves him so much, doesn’t want to kill the feelings they still have for each other, doesn’t want to taint their time together because it’s all they have.

It’s just so hard to talk about what it’s like to end a tour and go home to Perth without him. Thom gets to go see his girlfriend. Jake gets the vastness of the Indian Ocean, but it’s nothing in comparison to Thom.

“Jake…” Thom murmurs and the way he says it… Jake hasn’t heard that tone in ages. Longing.

“Yeah?” Jake says as he rolls his head to one side.

He drags a beer-tired left hand to lift the hem of Thom’s t-shirt so that he can press his lips to the warm skin that covers his abdomen. The muscles beneath Jake’s lips quiver, a sharp intake of breath by both parties. He’s aware that Chris is literally right there, but he’s very much asleep and is notorious for sleeping through anything. Besides, Jake’s legs are too alcoholic to be trusted to go vertical. He’s sure that as long as this doesn’t go anywhere, they’ll be quite safe.

Jake thinks this, logically mulls it over and commends himself on being absolutely sensible, all the while, he’s caressing Thom’s tummy with his sloppy hand and his hot breath skating over Thom’s belly button and he’s always been more of an instigator than a precautionary one anyway. He feels it then, the stir in Thom’s pants just beneath his sternum.

The energy of playing new stuff at the Wollongong gig combines with the high of ogling the tight-butted boys on the tele and that energy sparks through Jake, electrifying the fences that he puts up to stop him from putting his hands on Thom when they get to be around each other. They both know the fence is just a ruse, that the bulls can hold up the wires and get through anyway, and that it’s sometimes Thom who’s there with the wire cutters to make sure the cattle get out as fast as they can.

Jake presses kisses all over Thom’s abdomen, pushing the shirt higher and covering more ground and licking where he hasn’t licked in months. He threads his right hand between their bodies to wrap his fingers around Thom’s clothed cock. It throbs like the heart of another being beating between them, or an angel’s six wings beating at Jake’s rib cage, puncturing his lungs rock hard in motion and feather soft in emotion, and makes Jake moan and rut his own swelling cock against Thom’s leg.

“The red one, the red,” Chris calls out in his sleep.

Jake and Thom freeze. Muscles pounding and throats rasping and in a heartbeat, Chris’ snoring continues.

Thom is the first to whisper something of a warning, “We need to be quiet,” and it’s as much of a signed permission slip as Jake needs.

He picks up where he left off, kissing taut skin and rutting and palming Thom, and Thom’s hands thread into Jake’s hair. His short nails stroke behind Jake’s ears where he knows Jake loves it, his fingernails curling underneath the lobe, behind Jake’s ear and above, and around again. Jake keens into the touch, shuffling a little higher to reach Thom’s chest, grinding his cock into Thom’s thigh as he moves and he encloses a moan on the skin below Thom’s right nipple, his lips sealing the sound and imbuing the vibration of it into Thom’s skin.

“Fuck...” Thom whines.

The word ripples over Jake’s spine, calls attention to how hot and sweaty his back is underneath the cotton of his t-shirt. He hears Thom’s stomach rumbling, ravenous in hunger for Jake so to protect them both, Jake moves his left hand to cover Thom’s mouth, helps to keep him quiet while Jake rolls his hips into Thom. Heat rushes to his cheeks, behind his ears, burning a trail of ice where Thom touches him, a trail that melts away in half a second.

Jake flips his right hand over and flicks his thumb to tug down his fly and gives up on the whole affair because Thom’s keening into him too, rubbing friction between them as well as he can lying flat on the carpet and wedged into the space between two beds. He can feel air coming out through Thom’s nose in quick huffs, shooting over the top of his hand, his tongue hot against his palm.

Jake turns his mouth onto Thom’s nipple, bares his teeth but doesn’t bite, just presses his face close, teeth indenting, the musk of Thom soaking into his pores. Hips trying to roll and just rutting, Thom’s cock pressing against Jake’s hard bones and Jake’s hard cock digging into Thom’s soft thighs and then Thom’s letting out a wild, muffled hum that whistles through Jake’s fingers like they’re blades of grass. The chaos of the city, fills; and the havoc in the desperate bliss release, empties; and Jake’s hand slips down Thom’s chin and his lips unseal and the heat shifts and his guttural groan expels.

Thom’s hand shoots down to cover Jake’s mouth but it’s too late. Chris makes a noise like a question but he rolls over and his breath comes heavy just in time for Jake and Thom’s breathing to catch on. His crotch feels damp and his waist downwards feels numb. Thom wraps an arm around Jake and pulls him close and Jake laughs, a giddiness swelling within him and he irons his smile against Thom, finds the hand Thom had fired and threads their wiry fingers together.

Jake’s laughter spreads to Thom, his chest buoyant under Jake’s head. “Why don’t you cover your own mouth next time?” Thom says, the laughter breaking his ability to keep quiet, “I’m not the one who needs it!”

Jake pinches Thom’s side before dragging himself up to kiss Thom. Sloppy because they’re still drunk and still laughing and still loving each other so much that it’s hard to keep still.

Thom holds Jake’s head in his hands, pulling their lips apart with a wet smack and he looks into Jake’s eyes and he tells him that he loves him. Kisses him, tells him that he loves him, hugs him and it’s like the rewind button keeps being pressed. The tender moments replayed until the button is worn down and there’s no difference between pause or rewind or stop. The iconography are all rubbed off and the slick black squares remain to confuse, though the fingers know where to go, know what button to touch to do what’s required, because how could he think he could forget?


End file.
